Under the Tejas Sun
by ninamonkey
Summary: When the shuttle breaks down Zoë and Wash have to figure a way of gettin’ it fixed…without killing each other first. Pre Series.


**Under the Tejas Sun**

"_Ta ma de_...well, that tears it." Wash flicked the sweat trickling past his cheek with his thumb and grimaced at the hellish New Tejas' sun. Defeated, he flung the wrench across his path and watched as a mocking cloud of dust pooled around his feet. The wrench added one more piece of clutter to the bright copper, tile, and tin starter parts and the litter almost resembled a bouquet of broken desert flowers.

Zoë's frown deepened. "No luck, huh?"

"Nope. We're humped, but good."

She sighed, but thought twice about leaned against the dead shuttle's side knowing the hull temp would've melted her vest clean through. _Ain't fit for a snake underground out here_, she thought, _but at least the cargo's safe._ She cupped a hand over her brow, checking for snipers in the far and near distance, but relaxed when the horizon was free from telltale metal glints. No enemies as far as she could see. Her eyebrow rose after the pilot swore under his breath.

Well. Present company excluded.

Off her look, Wash grit his teeth. He yanked the wrench from the ground and slammed it into the toolbox. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Feigning ignorance, Zoë picked invisible crumbs from her vest and for the umpteenth time wished for Bester on a platter. The mechanic was a royal _pi-gu _but she'd got nothing but static hailing _Serenity_ for over two hours, which was bad on two accounts. Sounded like the mechanic and the Cap got themselves in a mess…while she was stuck down here on a desert moon, with the jabbering flyboy.

She sighed deep. "So. What're you mouthin' off about now, pilot?"

"Don't hand me that." He was dangerously pink from the heat while a deeper flush crept up his neck. Zoë watched him with a small smirk. If he were a kettle he'd be whistling. "You've been givin' me hell for three months, lady, and I'm gettin' pretty damn tired of it."

She bent down and poked through the scattering of parts, dismissing him. "Which one o' these is the broken piece? Might be able to make it fit, if we got enough of 'em together. Kinda think it's the starter."

Wash spat something in his guttural Chinese and she almost smiled. She could've set a timepiece to his reactions.

"You even gonna address my question?"

"Ain't nothin' to address, pilot."

"And that, _that_. Right there." His voice broke as he jabbed a finger in the air. "That's the tip of the iceberg. I have a _name_, you know."

She glanced up once and cradled a broken part in her hand. Hm. She could probably make it fit the engine with a bit of whittling and a good file. "That you do, but think hard. You really want me to start callin' you 'Hoban'?"

His eyebrows smacked his hairline and the hard, scarlet burn in his cheeks suddenly streaked white, matching the ginger-blond roots of his moustache. She'd hoped she'd plucked the one card that would've stopped his gabbing but she'd got him mad instead. Oh, well. They never could talk straight.

When he got his wind he favored her with a feral sneer. "Not even in the middle of an orgasm, Zoë."

Her lips tightened. Well. That was low, even for him. She agreed she probably deserved it since she'd been the one who tapped into the Cortex and extracted his datafile, but she'd honestly thought he was better than that. She watched him switch his feet about, wavering between apologizing and not wanting to, wondering if he really wanted to go there and stay there or be the better man. Didn't matter. They'd been snipin' at each other for a good long while now and if it made him feel better to go for the jugular, then fine. Meant she didn't have to deal with him any longer.

She stood and wiped the dust from her hands, then headed back into the shuttle. "It's hot, pilot, and we might be out here a while. Suggest you go in an' have yourself a nice long drink of water. Cool off a mite. Think I'll rest up, do the same. Can't do much else 'til the Cap'n calls."

"I'm sorry," Wash finally called after her, but she was already inside.

* * *

_"Ai ya, huai le_--!" 

The conditioning unit had quit due to the dead engine and the shuttle contained way too much leftover heat for his liking. Yeah, the sun had dipped below the New Tejas' horizon but it didn't matter - the shuttle was _still_ hotter than Buddha's left nut. Wash stared unblinking at the ceiling, recounting the same creaky, crisscrossed metal seams for the hundredth time. He'd tried sleeping on the cockpit chairs but they lost their allure after he'd dozed off and slammed into the floor. He decided the floor offered the best relief from the heat anyway. Which was barely any at all.

_"Gao yang zhong de gu yang…"_

Zoë - _with her oh, so brilliant mind_, he thought, scowling - suggested they rest early evening and work sometime after standard midnight. He wasn't saying her plan didn't have merit since it was too hot to work any other time (and he really didn't need more sun), but it didn't make sleep come any easier knowing she was right all the gorram time.

He wrinkled his nose and bit back another curse as he switched positions. On top of that he was seriously burnt - as in the, it-hurt-too-much-to-wear-clothes kind of burnt. He was naked beneath the light sheet and every ounce of his exposed skin crackled like deep fried protein as the heat boiled off his body. The slightest move became a new adventure in the prickly and the painful. But nope, he wasn't about to give Zoë the satisfaction of seeing his agony. She wanted to pretend nothing mattered? Fine, he could play the game as well as she could. He scrunched deeper into the sheet, battling guilt and his conscience. Maybe he had to surrender some of the high ground. Zoë may've stepped over the line but he'd flown right past it, and then some.

"_Cao_," he yelped. No, there was no damn way to sleep, period. Ironic that he'd been burned twice - once from the sun, and once by her. Sure, she was fine. Peachy. Perfect, probably. Perfect in every damn way. Perfectly perfect. Perfectly perfect legs, too, and hips--

_Ai ya_. If only he could get her damn hips out of his head!

First time he thought she was cute because she'd frisked him, but he quickly discovered that nothing in the 'verse broke the ice queen. His jokes fell flat, his flirting fell flat, his little cute toys fell flat…nothing chipped Her Royal Highness. And after a few weeks of that, she just plain annoyed the hell out of him. It was always, "sir" this and "sir" that to Mal. And the _planning_. Good gorram, that woman could overplan a game of _jacks_. She couldn't just let things happen, oh, no. She always had to have some kind of foolproof, humped up plan. Bugged the living batshit out of him. Wash knew Mal forced them together on this leg of the pickup because he wanted them to get along. Hell, Mal probably sabotaged the shuttle himself. Probably part of some gorram team building exercise to make them all happy and cuddly.

_Like that would be any fun,_ Wash thought, punching his pillow. He rolled onto his back and moaned. Cuddling up to Zoë'd be like cuddling up to a sleeping bear: Nice, soft, and warm…until it woke up and beat the ever livin' stew outta you. He swore again. He hated it, but even now a part of him wouldn't mind getting beat where it itched, as long as it was Zoë's hand--

"Pilot."

Wash squawked and jumped clear out of his skin - the parts that weren't crispy, anyway. Wincing, he slowly dragged his body to a prone position. "Zoë." He ground his teeth. "Or should I say, 'Lieutenant?'"

"I ain't been commissioned," she said simply, and it figured the sarcasm would go over her head. Or…His brow furrowed. Did it? Did he just miss a brief smile? He grunted. Naw, couldn't be. Ice queens didn't smile.

"Zoë, I'm tryin' to sleep here." She was still in her clothes from the afternoon and he pulled the sheet over his naked shoulders. He shouldn't have felt shy but he suddenly did and he tried not to scowl as the metal floor bit into his charred butt. "I'm taking up my half of the shuttle - in the _cockpit_, I might add - so you're able to keep your precious privacy."

"You're moanin' louder than my Aunt Harriett's dyin' cow. Can't sleep my own damn self."

He made a face. "'Zat so? Well, pardon me. Sorry I'm an _inconvenience_."

She shook her head and stepped over him to get to a shelf over the cockpit. He waited as she grabbed a metal box and took out a small tube. "Medikit," she explained. "Where'd you get burned?"

"None of your damned business."

"Ah. So damned near everywhere, then. Shouldn't have stripped to your skivvies when you were workin' on the shuttle. Roll over."

"It was _hot_, Zoë," he complained, but he obediently rolled onto his back with a hiss. "What the hell was I supposed to do? Fry? I was doin' enough of that with all my clothes on. Besides, I wasn't in my damn underwear. I was wearing pan…"

"_…tsoooh_. Ohhh. _Yeah_." He groaned in ecstasy and closed his eyes as the cream hit his back. He expected Zoë's hands to be calloused and rough, but her touch was surprisingly feather-light. He barely felt her fingertips massaging his back over the cooling paste.

"No, you pulled your flight suit down halfway, and it kept slippin' past your hips each time you bent to pick up a part. Not exactly full coverage, pilot."

He opened one eye and lazily smirked at her. "I could slip in a joke regarding your observance of that particular situation, but I don't want you to stop putting that nirvana crack on my back…_Uhhnn_, Buddha's seven _hells, _Zoë. Whatever you do, _don't_ stop."

She snorted. _Huh_, Wash thought. _Now _that _sure sounded like a laugh._

"Zoë," he ventured.

"Yeah, pilot."

Her hands were slowly creeping down his torso and other parts of him started getting warm - parts that had nothing to do with sunburn. Could be embarrassing if she asked him to turn over now, but he found himself distinctly in the not-caring category. "This fighting _go se_'s for the birds. What say we call a truce?"

"Didn't think we were at war, pilot."

"First conditional term of surrender," he continued, ignoring her. "You stop calling me 'pilot.' Makes me feel like a thing, not a person. Call me Wash."

"It's a stupid nickname."

"So's 'pilot.' Hell, for that matter, I'm not too keen on 'Hoban,' which you retrieved illegally I might add."

Her fingers hovered above his back and he wondered if she was angry. He was the one who deserved to be upset, considering how she invaded his personal datafiles, but it dawned on him that he was more concerned about what she thought about him, over what he felt. Seconds later her fingers tentatively returned to their slow, circular patterns down his back…_and to parts further unknown_, he thought with a small grin.

Zoë grunted. "I'll…admit I deserved that, I s'pose. Had to find out if you were a threat or not."

He sighed heavily. "You could have asked me, Zoë."

"If you _had_ been a threat, you wouldn't have told the truth. So?"

"_So_, not everything - not everyone - is a threat. Wish you understood that."

She finished covering his tailbone, and part of him regretted the switched from his torso to the back of his arms. "What about you, then?"

"Whaddya mean, what about me?"

"Never asked me, pi…Wash."

He smiled at the small name victory. "Never asked you what?"

She sighed and nudged him. "Flip over."

"Uh…I--"

"Trust me, Wash. I've seen it all in the war. Ain't gonna surprise me any, an' I'll keep your dignity in tact."

He cringed and gingerly flipped over. "You know, you could at least pretend to be embarrassed."

"Why? Wouldn't be the truth." To her credit she didn't look down. Even when his eyes roamed every inch of her caramel face, her coal tresses, and her beautiful chest, even as his expression softened when he realized he was falling for the most exasperating woman on earth, her eyes remained on the job. He kept quiet a few minutes, taking in the sight of her over him, wondering if this was the closest they'd ever get to each other. He was stiff as a flagpole but she didn't bat an eye.

"So you feel nothing," he offered quietly as she slathered the last of the lotion across his chest. "Absolutely nothing?"

Her lips tightened but he didn't know her well enough to guess at the expression. She sighed and sat back on her heels, and he made a face as he struggled to get up on his elbows. "What do you want me to say, Wash?"

"Something. Anything. Either acknowledge me or hate me, but…this 'cold indifference' is a steaming, stinking pile of horseshit." He slowly shook his head. "You're lying to me. To me _and_ yourself if you think you don't care."

He grabbed his pillow and rolled back on his side. "And I don't deal with liars very well."

Zoë stopped short of rolling her eyes but gave him a good, hard glare of her own before he turned away.

"Right," she said, getting to her feet. "I'll take the floor. You take the cot. The cot's better for sunburn."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm pretty comfy on the floor. 'Sides, I don't take charity from liars."

She made the small exasperated noise now, and Wash smiled sadly when she left him where he was.

"That was fairly enlightening, albeit fruitless." He pounded the pillow and slowly drifted off, hoping he wouldn't dream about her again.

* * *

_"I swear Tracey, you're the luckiest damn private I ever met. You didn't get skinned alive for that bit o' lunacy?"_

_"Nope." _

_Shelton beamed, and it made his freckles dance. "Luckiest gorram private in the universe. Ain't he, Zoë?"_

_Zoë shook her head. "Lucky he wasn't transferred out."_

_"Aw, you know that'll never happen," Tracey quipped. "Colonel ain't got the balls for it. He'd rather die than haveta explain what happened to his waxy dog dander."_

_"You still got it on ya, Tracey?" Shelton asked._

_"What, the moustache?"_

_"Yeah! C'mon, you gotta be carryin' it around. I know you."_

_Tracey grinned at Shelton a half beat, and fished it out of his top pocket. "Here. Try it on for size."_

_Shelton whooped and coddled the thing as if it were a pet. Zoë made a face and hefted her weapon over one shoulder. "You boys have fun. I'm goin' out on patrol."_

_They'll play with anything out here, she thought to herself._

_Maybe it was two hours later, but it felt like two minutes. She heard the whistling and ducked for cover. Alliance hit 'em hard and fast, just liked they liked it. Mortar rained hot from the sky, searing into uniforms, through helmets. Some concoction of their own: Phosphorus, with a kick of something else to make it extra hot; extra poisonous. She coughed back the smoke and maneuvered her way back to base camp over the shelling. She heard the Sarge shouting for them to move, they were bugging out, things were too hot - _

_A stretcher. Tracey folding his hat under his arm._

_"Private, move! Put your helmet back on! It's raining gorram--"_

_He obeyed, but nodded at the stretcher. The charred smell of melting, blackened skin stunk through her nostrils, and she winced, seeing Shelton's bloodied form. The parts of the moustache that hadn't burned had melted into his skin, along with everything else on his body. His blue eyes were wide and frightened, seeking for someone to tell him it would be all right. That he'd be fine. Part of his red hair was plastered to the side of his face, baked on with his own burnt blood. _

_" 'S'gonna be okay, right, ma'am? Gonna be okay?"_

_"You'll be fine, Private," she lied. Nothing else to say. She looked away._

_"I'll be okay, Zoë." That voice…She looked back - good gorram, that wasn't Shelton…Oh…Sweet God…"It's okay, Zoë…I'm-I'll be okay, I'll--"_

_Blood dribbled from Wash's lips. She felt herself crumbling in the dirt. More time, if there'd been more time--_

_"Wash!"_

_"Zoë?" He was fading from her. His voice was disappearing--_

_"Zoë…"_

_

* * *

_

"Zoë…_Zoë_! C'mon, hon', wake up--!"

She bolted upright and clutched her sheet to her chest. It only took a half second to realize what happened but in her madness between awake and sleep she must've looked fit to beat the devil back to Hades. Wash jerked his hand from her shoulder, but his innocent blue eyes were full of wide-eyed pain and concern.

"I…um, I'm sorry. You were yelling for some guy named Shelton, and then me, and then--"

She shook her head brusquely and held up a hand, stilling his words. She glanced away. "Nothin' to worry about. Happens often enough."

Instead of leaving, he pulled up one of the cargo crates and tentatively sat across from her. "How often?"

"It ain't your business, pilot."

"We're back to pilot, then?"

Her glower became sharp. "My dreams, my business. _Dong ma_?"

He didn't flinch from her expression and she found some small comfort in that, but as the adrenaline eased off she began shivering.

"No, I don't understand," Wash said softly. He risked coming near again and she should've told him to go away but she didn't. She was suddenly cold, and heat from his sunburn almost sounded like a good thing.

He stood and opened his arms to her. "Please, Zoë. I…want to help. I won't try anything, I pr--"

He wasn't done speaking before she was off the bed and in his arms. They were both naked as the day was long but like he said, he wanted to help. It was a comfort to know he wasn't dead or dying. Wasn't charred black as midnight with caked blood on his lips. That the war hadn't touched him, as it touched so many other things in her life.

"Just hold me a while, okay, Wash?"

"_Dang ran_," he whispered. And he stayed quiet as she clung to him, and she didn't know how long that was. She just needed a body, a warm, living body. Someone…without the stench of war. When she finally relaxed - and it felt like hours but it could've been minutes - she nudged from his arms and plucked the sheet from her cot, suddenly aware of her nudity. Wasn't right for him to be feeling things about her right now. Maybe not ever.

"Thanks," she said smoothly, and she sat back on the cot to avoid his eyes. He went away and she expected him to go back to his own bed, but instead she heard hissing and spit cusses. Then he returned to her, wearing just his boxers and his undershirt. His limping, bowlegged gait painted a smile on her lips.

"I mean it," he said. "I ain't gonna try anything."

"I trust you."

He affected a stunned look, then dragged the crate closer and propped himself against the cool metal bulkhead. "You? Trust _me_? Then I must not be trying hard enough." He was close enough to touch. She lightly slapped his knee - one of the few places not sunburned on his reddened body - and smiled at him sadly.

He mirrored her smile. "Wanna talk about it, Zo'?"

"Not particularly," she said. Off his look, she shrugged. "One of the soldiers in our platoon sorta looked like you, but Shelton was young. Real young. Guess my dream mixed you up with 'im."

"Apparently. Gotta admit though, I'm glad I _wasn't_ him from the way you were yellin' his name - and mine. But hey, at least I got called 'Wash,' for once."

She covered her smile but wasn't fast enough. He held up a finger in triumph. "Ah, ha! Caught you. And they said it couldn't be done."

"Cut it out," she said, playfully batting his finger. Her smile slowly slipped to a semblance of peaceful sadness. "Sunburn must've triggered the dream, is all. Smell of burnt flesh don't go away quite so easy."

"I'll bet." His voice quavered with concern and regret. She didn't mean to put that pain in him, and she hated that he wanted to take on hers. Hell, that dream was nothing. Other nightmares were far worse. If he showed this much with the smallest dream he wouldn't ever make it past the bigger stuff.

"Wash," she sighed. She came off the cot with the sheet wrapped around her, realizing she'd feel better on the floor. He looked confused as she lay down, close to him, but far enough away. "Ain't important, like I said. You'd better get some sleep. We've got lots to finish an' you need your sleep."

"_Can _you sleep?"

"Yeah. Just…gotta sleep on the floor." He didn't understand, and she ran a hand through her hair, straightening her curls to function as a makeshift pillow. "Doesn't make sense, but it helps to sleep on the floor after dreamin'. Reminds me of…the ground. In combat. Makes me rest easier."

Wash watched her curl up and she didn't mind him hovering over her, watching. He didn't realize it but him playing sentry was a help. He surprised her when he slid off the box and cuddled next to her, but she didn't flinch. Didn't mind it altogether, really. Preferred it maybe to being alone.

His voice was thick with emotion and she wondered if he was crying but she didn't turn to check. "Just tell me if I'm out of line, and I'll go."

"No," she said after a beat. "It…it feels okay. Feels safe."

"Good." He swallowed and pulled her close to his chest, and she snuggled in tight. His body was aware of her, but it didn't matter. That was the way of combat. "I never want you to feel unsafe again."

She chuckled darkly. "S'pose this means we're friends now."

"If you wanna be friends. Mal sure wants us to be friends.""Well, what Mal wants and what is are two different things."

He stroked her hair, and she found her eyelids getting heavy. "I want to be friends, Zoë," she heard him whisper before she drifted off. He thought she was asleep but she heard him, right before sleep claimed her. "Maybe more than friends, if you want."

* * *

_"…new catalyzer on Persephone, no thanks to that hundan of a mechanic. Swear to God, Zoe. One more screw up, an' I'm tossin' his happy butt off the ship while we're goin' full burn." __  
_  
Wash wrinkled his nose as he roused himself from the floor. He had kinks in places where he didn't know he had muscles. He craned his neck, hearing bones pop, and peered over at the fuzzy vid showing Mal's face. The captain looked just out of range but he near enough for a partial broadcast. Meant they'd make atmo in less than an hour. 

"Good to know you're both okay, sir," Zoë said. She was fully clothed and he glanced out the portside window. Streaks of purple and red colored the horizon. Dawn? Why didn't Zoë wake him? How long had he slept?

_"Yeah, well. Sorry you had to sit tight, what with the shuttle breakin' down an' all."_ Mal glared over his shoulder - possibly because Bester was behind him. _"Turned out right, I s'pose, seein' how we needed to pick up a few parts."_

_"Told ya the left shuttle was about to pop."_

_"Yeah, Bester,_" Mal ground out between his teeth. _"But if'n ya told me a mite sooner, we could've saved ourselves a few trips."_

"It's okay, sir," Zoë said. There was a small smile across her lips. "We'll sit tight 'til you get here."

_"Any clues to the trouble?"_

"Tell Bester it looks like the rear mag on the starter," Wash called over her shoulder. He groaned and staggered to his feet, and Zoë smiled softly at him. "The aught-five bolt assembly snapped when we landed. The kit and replacement parts're back on Serenity, in the aft storage locker."

Zoë turned back to Mal. "You get that, sir?"

_"Surely did." _An impish grin pinked his features. _"So you two didn't kill each other, I take it."_

"Both alive and kicking, sir."

"Well, alive, anyway," Wash muttered, limping into the cockpit.

"Our pil--Wash--got himself a nasty sunburn. Took care of it, sir." Zoë looked Wash up and down, as if making sure he was okay. He felt the tension leave his shoulders. Finally, she wasn't pretending like nothing was happening. Score one for him. He smiled tentatively but she masked her expression as she returned to the com.

_"Well. Long as he ain't in the infirmary, or infirmary-bound. We'll be there near enough. Probably by breakfast."_

"Lookin' forward to it, sir."

Mal nodded, and the com went blank. "Well," Zoe sighed, "at least they're okay. Wondered, though. Bester can get 'imself into a heap of trouble."

Wash almost bust a gut laughing then held his side because it hurt too much. "And Mal's a saint?"

"Better than Bester. Most days, anyway."

"I'll believe that when I see it." He inched down into the co-pilot's seat and let out a slow, lingering breath when he hit cushion.

Zoë released a small laugh and he grinned at the sound. Reminded him of tiny, tinkling bells, and he vowed to hear the sound from her more often.

"When we get back, we'll get some more of that lotion. It'll set you right."

"It's not just that," he said, nibbling the corner of his 'stache. He leaned back in the chair in what he hoped was his least intimidating manner, and leveled his gaze at her. "The floor was a little hard, too."

She left the pilot's console, ignoring his leading question, and his eyes followed her as she played at being busy in the other room. _Wo de ma_. No, they were _not_ going back to square one if he had anything to say about it. He scrambled to get back on track. "So, uh, what did you mean yesterday?"

"About what--? Wash, catch." He turned, just as a protein bar flew at his head. He deftly caught it in his left hand.

He tore the package and instantly his stomach gurgled, reminding him they'd both slept through a meal or two. "Thanks. You said I never asked." He bit into the protein bar and scrutinized her as she started stowing the gear. "Asked what?"

Zoë grabbed his sheet and folded it up. "Think on what we were talkin' about."

He rolled his eyes. "Need a bit more help with that, sweetie." The diminutive slipped from his lips but apparently she didn't notice. "We were talkin' about a lot of stuff."

She came into the cockpit and shoved the toolkit under the co-pilot's seat. He admired her wriggling butt but she knew what he was up to and spun around, scowling. "We were talkin' about treatin' each other right, Wash. I ain't some object, either." Her glare hardened. "You an' Bester been gossipin' a lot of _go-se_ behind my back. Neither of you had the right."

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "C'mon, it was just guy talk, Zoë. After a few beers an' all, we just…well, _talk_. Honest, it's all ignorant, dumb…stupid guy talk!"

"Mm, hm." She gave him one last intimidating stare before getting to her feet and towering over him. He had the good grace to shrink back in his seat. "Like I said, I ain't an object, either. So next time ask me out good an' proper, and you might get me lookin' at you different."

He gulped as she left to go back in the other room, and he wasn't sure what to say. How was he supposed to apologize for that one? After all, he and Bester said a lot of dumb crap when they were bored and drinking and--

_Waitagorramminute_--

"Uh, Zo'?" He cleared his throat after hearing himself squeak. "Zoë? Madam-in-charge- person?""Yeah, Wash."

She sounded fed up but he plowed on. "Ask…as in, ask you out? _Out _out? Like on a _date_, out-out?"

She sighed deep and stared at him from the other room, through the cockpit corridor. "I ain't in the habit of repeatin' myself. You heard what you heard. Up to you to figure out what comes next."

"Wow. Uh…_wow_. Okay."

"Best figure it out soon, though. I ain't in the habit of waitin', neith--"

"Tomorrow after dinner!" He blurted. "I mean…that is, if you're not busy cleaning your guns, or something."

He nervously waited for her reaction. But there it was, that slow, devil smile that just needed the right bit of coaxing to cross her lips. _So make with the silly and toss in pathetic, _he thought. _Got it._

"Wouldn't mind some coffee after dinner. We could talk."

"Talking's good, real good," he said, nodding like a moonbrain. "Very good. So...um. Is that a yes?"

The smile didn't disappear. "Might be."

He opened his mouth to continue, but the faint whine of Serenity's engines breaking atmo became both a welcome and frustrating noise. Their first real relationship talk and Mal had to come back in the nick of time to save his first mate. Jealousy churned in his gut, right along with the protein bar.

"Well, ain't that a sight for sore eyes," Zoe said, sighing.

"Yeah." Wash scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "Sore."

She hid her smile and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't be so quick to give up, pilot. We ain't done talkin'."

And that was all the confidence he needed. He'd always thought of Mal as a rival but right now he saw something different in Zoe's eyes - something Mal, in the few months he'd sailed with them, wasn't responsible for. Wash saw a real spark and he was bold enough to believe he was the reason. And he was positive Zoë saw him as something more, too, whether she realized it in that moment or not. His sour expression softened as he observed her, even as they both silently watched _Serenity_'s less-than-perfect landing on the desert sand. The spark - _his _spark - was there, all right. The fire was up to him.

"Right," he said quietly. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and he gently squeezed it with a smile. "And honest, Zoë--? I'm really lookin' forward to more."


End file.
